Fun with Leon and D
by Icarus Defiled
Summary: Leon has taught D many things.
1. Desperation

Since meeting the Detective D has learned many things. He has learned Baseball stats and human morality, American cuisine and American Ideals; and tonight D is learning Desperation.

He has always know in that cold, crisp, clinical, detached way of his what the emotion that so many of his customers display is, watched them crumble and commit to anything in order to cease that endless ache, but tonight, tonight he feels it, because tonight D is learning Desperation.

He feels it in every breath he takes, every drop of blood that flows from beneath his porcelain fingers. It is a vile, violent emotion, that consumes reason and practicality, making him snarl at every red light, every car that moves too slowly or street that is too blocked to let them through. All these things that his near god-like powers can not fix. He is trapped in a technological dystopia with a dying relic, and D is learning of Desperation.

It is the beeping of the insidious little machine that with every utterance sends his pulse higher. It is the voices of the EMTs rising above the babble of modern science in bits and spurts of incomprehensible jargon, phrases that catch and stick in his mind: "internal hemorrhaging", "cardiac arrest", "anaphylactic shock". It is watching Leon bleed from wounds meant for him while feelings kept secret lay heavy on his tongue. It was watching them wheel his Lion away into endless halls of sterile white, a whispered " I love you", fallowed by a prayer to deity's long lost and never truly believed in anyway. Tonight D is learning of Desperation.


	2. Despair

For twelve hours, D has sat in like a porcelain statue, drenched in blood, in a hard, frighteningly orange, plastic chair in a hospital waiting room, Chris curled up next to him, one of his hands caught firmly by this little Lion. There is a curious feeling dwelling within him, like something has reached in and removed a vital piece of him, and each tic of the cheap plastic clock behind its little cage seems to carry with it another piece of his being. It is as if D has been suspended above an ever widening abyss, held aloft by something that feels sickeningly like hope and D thinks back to his lessons in mythology.

He is pulled from his musings by the appearance of a young man with old eyes, in blood drenched, powder blue scrubs, who looks at D in his blood covered silk chenogasm and Chris in is jeans and tee-shirt and doesn't see them at all. His face makes the appropriate expressions, his body belays just the right amount of sympathy, but his eyes never change as the word's flow from his mouth like woe from Pandora's box, heedless of the pain they did with each syllable, a memorized litany for the bereaved, and D's mind flies back to one of the rare moments he spent with his father, of a lesson in human mythology and why hope was the last to leave.

As a child D didn't understand his fathers cynicism but now, at all of twenty-seven and feeling ancient and infantile at once he knows, with a blindingly, painfully sharp insight that the reason hope was the worst was because of what came hidden in bright shinning light: Despair, cold and dark and damming, for only when you have been held aloft by the tenuous grip of hope and fallen when it has faded can you know true Despair.

Tonight Leon has lost his life and taught D of Despair


	3. Human

Soft words filter through the haze of D's mind and take shape, his name passes almost whisper soft from Jill's lips and a small hand reaches up to wipe the tears from his face. A young man stands before him with old eyes, in blood drenched, powder blue scrubs, who looks at D in his blood covered silk chenogasm and Chris in is jeans and tee-shirt, and Jill, still in Kevlar and doesn't see them at all. His face makes the appropriate expressions, his body belays just the right amount of sympathy, but his eyes never change, never see him, as the word's flow from his mouth like woe from Pandora's box, heedless of the pain they do with each syllable, a memorized litany for the bereaved, and D's mind refuses to focus on them, refuses to hear them again.

In a daze he fallows Chris as he leads him down halls and corridors in this sterile maze, his mind lost in grief and anguish until a warm, calloused hand wipes the tears that refuse to stop running and lifts him up to meet cornflower blue and he is lifted from his pit, not by the wings of fickle hope but by the arms of his fills him as their lips meet and it is then that he realizes how very cold he has always been, his mask of ice melting in the light of Leon's smile and his softly whispered "I love you", and tonight D has learned to be Human.


End file.
